


take my whole life too

by Theboys



Series: what a time to be alive [14]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Exes, M/M, basketball player!Jared, journalist!jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 23:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14068242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: In which Jensen finds himself in a compromising situation, and Jared figures himself out.





	take my whole life too

Mark still has Jensen’s copy of his first Tribune byline, a small header somewhere near the middle of the paper (but not the very back!) and it’s framed and hanging in Mark’s office.

Jensen deleted Mark’s number in a fit of anger when they broke up, and so he has to resort to emailing the man in order to let him know that he’s in town, and he’s driving to Methodist Richardson to pick it up.

Preseason starts in a week, and Jensen needs to get back to Chicago so that they can fly him out to cover training camp.

He’s officially been dating Jared for eight months, and it’s still new. He’s so nervous of messing up--he tends to drive people away with his clumsiness and perpetual ability to stick his foot in his mouth. It pains him to admit that he’s the culprit in the demise of most of his relationships.

Mark’s response was instantaneous, as it usually it is, and less effusive than he was a year and a half ago, the last time Jensen saw him.

_ Jensen, I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I was to see your name in my inbox. I hope you don’t think me sentimental when I confess that I still have your article hanging in my office. I can understand that you’d want it back, and my hours are the same as I’ve always kept, (9-7, if you’ve forgotten). I look forward to seeing you. _

_ Mark _

Jensen’s face had flushed against his will--no one has ever looked at Jensen as completely as Mark used to, for the duration of their relationship. Mark’s an anesthesiologist, and somehow, he found adequate time to make them work. They used to work so well, too.

Jensen takes the ramp onto Bush’s freeway (an ostentatious name if he’s ever seen one) and tries to dry each palm individually on the denim of his jeans.

He sits in the parking lot just outside of the East Wing of the complex, where Mark’s offices are located, and takes four consecutive deep breaths.

He reaches for his phone so that he can text Mark that he’s on his way up, when he remembers that he still doesn’t have the man’s number.

What he does see is a text from Jared.

_ I already wish I was waking up to you tomorrow. _

That’s it, non-sequitur out of nowhere, and Jensen’s ears tip-turn pink. Jensen wants to move in with him--he practically lives in Jared’s expensive loft as it is, but Jared can’t be insinuating that. It’s too early. And also, Jared doesn’t yet know about all of his idiosyncrasies. Better to take what he has now and cherish it. 

He’s walking on autopilot, trying to formulate a response with his lip tucked under his teeth, when a firm chest sends him stumbling two steps back.

He’s already preemptively red with embarrassment, and his apology is twisted on his tongue when he finally manages to look up.

Mark catches him by the elbows, bright smile across his visage. He tips Jensen’s chin up with the outside of his index, and it’s so habitual that Jensen tilts his face into the finger, just like he used to.

“Jensen,” Mark breathes, honest-to-god exhales, as if he hasn’t taking a proper inhalation in years.

“You’re absolutely--” Mark cuts himself off, and his own face grows warm.

“Come with me to my office. I had it wrapped for you, for the drive back,” Mark says, one hand on the small of Jensen’s back.

The color in Jensen’s face is showing no signs of fading, and he tucks his phone into his back pocket.

“T-Thanks for getting it ready for me, Mark,” Jensen says, and Mark shuts the office door behind him, waving his hand dismissively. 

The office is mostly unchanged, a few new plants are hanging from the windowsill, probably courtesy of Mark’s mother, but all else remains familiar.

“I know it’s important to you,” Mark says simply, as if that’s the only reason that matters. “I had a bag around here, somewhere,” he continues, and he leans down to look underneath his desk.

“Do you want to sit? Anything?” Mark says, and Jensen stops wringing his hands for a second. Mark never chatters. He’s always direct and compassionate with whatever he’s trying to communicate, and Jensen realizes that his ex is almost as nervous as he is.

“I don’t need a bag,” Jensen says shyly, reverently picking up the brown-wrapped frame. “This is good, Mark.”

Mark stands then, brushing imaginary lint off of his coat.

“I. It’s really good to see you, Jensen,” Mark says, and his voice sounds sort of constricted. “Are you here for long?”

Jensen shakes his head, frame trembling slightly in his grip. “N-no, I saw my parents and I’m driving back to Chicago tomorrow morning.”

Mark crosses the edge of his desk, teakwood and ladened with miscellaneous paperwork, until he’s just in front of Jensen. 

Jensen tips his head back to meet Mark’s eyes, and Mark’s hands come to settle on his face. “You’re absolutely beautiful. I don’t--” he stops suddenly, with a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. I hate it when you look up at me like that--with those. When you use your eyes like that. You’re so precious.”

Mark says the last in hushed tones, and Jensen knows he means every word, feels it right down to the soles of his feet.

Jensen’s entire body is humming with tension, and he ducks his head and breaks away, stumbling backwards.

“I--I have a boyfriend,” he says, his tongue thick in his mouth. “He lives in Chicago, too. I just. I don’t want to g-give you the wrong impression.”

Mark’s still standing in the middle of the office, hands hanging limply at his sides. His face twists, infinitesimally, and he takes a step closer, eyes pained.

“Already?” He asks, gentle and wounded. Jensen’s eyes flutter shut.

“I wasn’t gonna. I couldn’t ask you to wait--” his words grind to a forced halt due to sudden pressure on his lips, and his eyes fly open in shock.

Mark’s kiss is brief but deep, and Jensen’s entire body trembles with warmth and sense memory.

“Y-you can’t  _ do  _ that, Mark!” Jensen says, voice rising in panic. “I just TOLD you--I said I was dating somebody. That’s. This is  _ wrong. _ ”

Mark’s nodding in agreement, vigorously, and Jensen’s pained, because Mark always abides by a code of ethics.

“That’s my fault. I am so sorry. I got. I haven’t seen you in so long, and I.” Mark closes his mouth and his posture straightens. “There aren’t excuses. You’re right. That was wrong to do, and I was wrong for doing it.”

Mark won’t meet his gaze, but he’s nodding to himself, shuffling papers that are already organized.

“I understand,” Mark adds, and his face is turned completely downward, and Jensen wants to ask him to look up, to say  _ something,  _ but even he knows that isn’t a good idea.

“Thank you again,” Jensen whispers, on the verge of tears, and Mark’s hand tightens around the corner of his desk, almost white from lack of blood flow.

Jensen fumbles on his way out, almost missing the doorknob, and he begins to cry himself when he hears an unmistakable sob as he closes the door behind him.

-

Jared knows something is up.

Jensen hasn’t spoken very much since he got back from Richardson a few days ago, not that Jensen is particularly a chatterbox, but, still.

They’re supposed to be getting dinner tonight, burgers at this little hole-in-the-wall that Jensen is fond of, but Jared doesn’t have the heart.

“Is this not working out?”

The question comes of its own volition, and Jared steels himself for the answer. He’s not going to like it, he’s sure.

Jensen’s sitting on the edge of Jared’s (and he thinks of it as theirs, now, but Jensen clearly doesn’t share that view) bed, pulling on his socks, and he makes a choked-off gasp in the back of his throat.

When Jensen returns upright, he’s pale, deathly so, and Jared crosses the room to kneel at his side, just in case something is seriously wrong.

“Do you want to break up with me?” Jensen rebuts, one hand fisted in silver sheets, and his voice is so small.

“No!” Jared says, and then sighs. “You’ve been weird ever since you went to see your parents. I thought, maybe they put things in perspective, or something. Maybe you realized I’m not what you want.”

_ That this life is too hard,  _ Jared thinks, but he doesn’t want to give a voice to one of his biggest fears.

Jensen tugs both of Jared’s big hands into his own, smaller ones, and Jared engulfs them gratefully.

“I’m always afraid you’re gonna leave me,” Jensen confesses, voice somehow smaller than it was just a minute before. Jared’s hands tighten.

“I just keep thinking. T-There are so many people out there who want you. They’re always w-writing articles about your body and your p-photoshoots and I can’t keep up. I don’t even look like I should b-be with you,” Jensen stammers out, ears turned that adorable wine color that Jared lives to create--but not like this.

Jared can’t even find the words--has never been  _ good _ with words, not like Jensen, who can craft an eight page article out of a twenty second sound bite and accompanying body language. 

He topples Jensen backwards, beautiful, flushed Jensen, thin frame swallowed by Jared’s Bulls sweatshirt, too wide around Jensen’s neck. It exposes the almost violent beauty of his boyfriend’s collarbone, and Jensen flushes further red under the attention.

He’s still not wearing pants, and, if Jared’s lucky, no underwear, either.

“You always put your socks on first, before any other part of your outfit,” Jared says, and Jensen squeezes his eyes shut.

“I k-know, which is super weird--” Jensen starts, but Jared leans all the way down and nips at his lower lip, just so Jensen can make that sexy gasp he loves so much.

“It’s adorable. Inefficient, but cute,” Jared admits, and Jensen squirms under the cage of Jared’s body.

Jared hitches them further up on the bed, toward the center, knocking Jensen’s legs wider with his own.

“And I love that, too,” Jared breathes, taking in the obscene V of Jensen’s legs, tangled around his own. They’re so wide that they’re threatening to uncover Jensen’s cock, and he’s blessedly open down there, no underwear, nothing.

Jared’s dick hardens that much further, a separate pulse in the back of his mind.

“I like how you stay open for me. Let me fuck you full of come and then eat it back out,” Jared says pointedly--and there it is. Even Jensen’s collarbone is red, now.

“And this,” Jared whispers, leans down next to Jensen’s ear, so he can really hear to this part. Jared taps three flat fingertips against the furl of Jensen’s hole, still slightly soft and malleable from earlier that day.

“You just suck me on in,” Jared says, and he slots his long middle finger right up in that clingy, still-wet heat, and Jensen mewls, high and long.

Jared’s hips make an aborted push down against Jensen’s abdomen, and he grits his teeth.

“You’re always a good boy. Holdin’ yourself open and wet for me, whenever I wanna fuck you,” Jared continues, blithe and unconcerned.

“Why’re you--Jay, s’not fair,” Jensen wails, head thrashing against the edge of one of their pillows. 

“Slurping my come off my fingers when I scoop it outta your ass,” Jared says lowly, and god _ damn  _ he’s so hard.

Nothing beats looking down at Jensen like this, splayed wide and flushed, humping at the air, moaning those high, needy noises that keep Jared so drunk off this man.

If anyone else had this--anyone else thought about so much as touching this, Jared thinks he might actually lose his mind. It’s a frightening thought. That Jensen renders him that unhinged. 

Just the idea has him seeing red.

“Then you fall asleep on my chest, still stuffed full of me,” he continues. “And I keep looking at you, night after night, watching your eyelashes curl up on your cheeks, countin’ all your damn freckles, and I keep thinking, ‘I can’t ever lose this.’”

Jared lays one large palm right over Jensen’s sternum, a paperweight.

“Seems to me,” Jared continues, focused on that fevered skin and Jensen’s eyes-- _ the way he looks up at you is damn near a drug, _ he thinks, “that there’s never gonna be anybody else when I’m so stuck on loving you.”

  
  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> i love the beginning of their relationship


End file.
